Dumb Luck
by A Beautiful Sleeper
Summary: Essentially, Harry's going through a confusing time in life. Fortunately for him, there's someone there to help him out.


Bartleby the Scrivener really did have a rough time of things, I think. I mean, stuck in a dead letters office like. That'd be enough to drive a man to madness. I mean, I've only been doing _this_ for a few hours and I think I'm starting to lose my marbles. By _this _I mean helping Ron with the ridiculously long list of thank-you notes Hermione is making him write for their wedding gifts, that she's probably going to end up looking over and re-doing anyways because they're not legible. She's making him do it because she is busy putting said gifts in their proper places in the lovely cottage they've got in Ottery St. Catchpole, near enough to The Burrow that Molly won't pitch a fit but far enough away that Hermione can breathe (and get to the bookstore with no problems). I, wonderful friend that I am, have been drafted into helping in order to reach our common goal of being able to play guilt-free quidditch.

I don't really mind as much as I'm saying though, because it's enough to take my mind off who we'll get to see when we get done with this drudgery and get to The Burrow. A couple of people, really, who've had me thinking more about myself and where I stand than I've had to think since the war. I'm not being clear, but it's not my fault they've got me so muddled. I was just minding my own business, going about my life as I suppose I'm meant to, when a very odd sequence of events happened at Ron and Hermione's wedding that put me out of sorts.

You see, part of the whole "what-Harry-is-supposed-to-do-post-war" bit is dating Ginny, eventually settling down someplace and having loads of kids. And I was doing that, happily so, when Ginny comes out of nowhere with the suggestion that "this isn't really working out to be what I thought it would be" and saying that "maybe we should take some time apart to see other people, possibly permanently". I mean, she "still wants to be the best of mates, of course" and "we won't say anything about it until after things have settled down a bit after the wedding, I don't want to distract anyone from Ron and Hermione's moment". It just seemed like a bludger from nowhere, and I guess part of the problem was that I wasn't even particularly upset once I'd had a bit of time to think about it. It did seem like we were spending less time kissing and more time on petty arguments and best-mate type things.

With my being newly sort-of-single and all, but not openly so, I was free to look at all the birds I wanted at the wedding without being constantly assaulted by desperate girls or my ever-present fan club asking for a dance or trying to buy me a firewhiskey. That's what I did, too, for the first hour or so, but after a while I noticed that there was someone there far more interesting than all those birds, someone that when compared to all the _lumos_ charms in the world would still come out radiant, someone I'd known for nearly my entire time in the magical world. The really strange part though was that I'd never felt those sorts of feelings for this person before, or anyone like them. Maybe it was the whole always being on the run thing, or maybe it was me trying to live up to the expectations the entire magical world had for me, but this person had always flown under my radar. I mean, yeah, we got on and all that, and we'd shared some pretty important experiences, but I had never felt that weird tingly feeling looking at them before.

"Oi, mate. We're done! Come on, let's grab our brooms and scarper before Hermione comes back and finds something else for us to do." Ron breaks into my little reverie, and nodding fervently I follow him out of the house and out to the shed where we'd propped our brooms earlier when Hermione had intercepted us on our way to The Burrow.

The trip is exhilarating, as we chose to go by broom since there aren't any muggles on our route, and the wind blowing on our faces is a welcome change from the stuffy air from the kitchen we sat in for two hours slaving away on those notes. The sky is a beautiful pale blue, without a cloud in sight, and it's a warm day. Excellent quidditch weather, if you ask me.

We touch down just inside the orchard where all our quidditch games are played, only to find that everyone else is already there and looking a bit sweaty, as if they've started without us.

"Hey! Don't tell me you lot couldn't have waited a few more minutes for us to get here," Ron shouts, seeming put out that they didn't wait.

"Sorry, Ronnikins, but I think two hours is a good deal longer than 'a few more minutes'" someone snorts. No. Not someone. George. And there go the weird tingles again.

While Ron and his brothers rib at each other semi-good-naturedly, I have to stop a second and ponder that thought. Yes, George is the one inspiring those odd tingles under my skin. I still don't know why, though. I've never even been remotely tempted towards any bloke before ever, at least not that I can remember, excluding that one very odd and isolated incident wherein I had a dream about Gilderoy Lockhart showering, but I think that was a result of reading entirely too much of his fan-mail. I mean, for Merlin's sake, I have had two all-consuming crushes on girls before, both of which turned into a sort of relationship with said girls. I just don't get it.

"Harry, mate, how've you been? Had a good week in training?" And there he is, clapping me on the back a few times. It's a struggle to answer him coherently, with that blasted tingle intensifying with his proximity.

"Ah, er, well, you know, same old stuff. They keep pairing me up with some of the low performers, hoping I can help them out. Some of them are a little more…difficult…than others," I finally manage to get out.

"That's the nice way of saying you've met trolls with more skills, isn't it? Don't worry, I won't let it get out that you've got a secretly nasty side," he jokes conspiratorially. Why does this tingle keep getting worse? There must be some way to make it bugger off.

"Come on, boys, let's get this back on track. I'd really like to finish kicking all of your arses before Mum calls us back for dinner," my now ex-girlfriend states cockily. I almost hadn't noticed she was here, I was so distracted with George and feeling weird.

I don't have too much time to think about her, or George, as the others take this as their cue to take to the air once more, and Ron and I have to be on opposite sides since we showed up so late. Quidditch clears the mind like nothing else, or so I've found, and for the next 45 minutes or so the world narrowed to my search for the snitch, the weak bludgers zooming about and more abstractly the other players. The only shame is that it couldn't have lasted any longer, because it really was a welcome reprieve from my own mind, but by the time Hermione and Percy came out to tell us dinner was ready everyone had worked up a massive appetite, so no one dawdled on the way back in.

"Harry, dear, so good to see you not looking so thin and malnourished," Molly Weasley says, all while pulling me in for a motherly hug. She still thinks I look underfed, though it's been a few years since the war and even longer since I even saw the Dursleys, let alone lived with them. It works out in my favor when it comes down to making sure I get a double portion of the treacle tart though, so I suppose I shouldn't complain.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. You do a good job of keeping me fed," I reply. Even though I live by myself in a flat in Diagon Alley, every time I come over she sends me home with enough food to feed a small army. That's on top of the picnic-sized lunches she packs for me every day that she sends along via Hermione, who I see on the lift every day when I'm on my way to training and she's going to her post with the Department of Welfare for Magical Entities, which she helped create alongside Remus Lupin and, oddly enough, Hagrid. While Hagrid still works as the gamekeeper for Hogwarts, he also helps the department with certain aspects of its policy, giving Hermione and Remus the ideas which they then put into eloquent words and actions. It's a pretty effective office, having changed things with regards to not only werewolf rights and house elves but also goblins and giants.

Once Molly releases me, there's only one chair left at the table, between George and Ron and across from Ginny. I can only hope that nothing will happen to make things awkward, but knowing my luck, things are about to go downhill pretty quickly.

"So why _were_ you two so late?" Ginny asks promptly, right before taking a huge mouthful of potatoes.

"We wah thtuck wightig thag-you dotes," Ron responds around his standard mouthful of food, and is chastised by Hermione's swift kick to the shin from under the table. "Ouch, woman! What? At least I'm not out in public!" He reaches down to massage at the sore spot a bit as Hermione continues to scowl at him. "That is no excuse for behaving like a total barbarian. Public or no, don't speak when you've got your mouth full! It's uncivilized."

I chortle at this common exchange, one that I guess I must have seen a thousand times since I first met my two best friends. It's comforting to have this bit of sameness, even in the midst of massive life changes and all. George is laughing right along with me; he's seen this almost as many times as I have. I'm just glad that he is laughing, given the hard time he had getting back to his normal self after losing Fred. At first he just spent months lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, barely eating or drinking anything. Then he got out of bed, but only to ooze out to pubs to get drunk off his ass. Eventually, after a heart-to-heart with Remus, who'd arguably lost just as much as he had, he stopped trying to find Fred in the bottom of all the bottles in the Leaky Cauldron. Still, he didn't speak to anyone but Ginny or Remus until one day he came downstairs while we were all having a laugh and doing stupid stuff like dressing up as girls with Ginny's makeup. It was almost like a scene in the movies, when he stopped at the last step to stare at us, and as we realized it we slowly stopped laughing. Well, except for Ron, because he was just a bit too amused at the sight of me with three-inch fake eyelashes, red lipstick, and one of Ginny's skimpier dresses on. It was like we were all holding our breath, until George finally started chuckling, which turned into full on guffaws.

As he'd tried to pull himself up from the half-bent shape he'd found himself in, he'd finally spoken to us for the first time in months. "Harry, mate, what the actual hell are you doing in my sister's clothes and makeup? For a second there I'd thought you were some sort of really ugly, really slutty sex worker." I mean, what a choice for his first words in almost a year. Calling me an ugly prostitute. But, when I think about it, I'd do anything to keep him laughing like that, even if it involved a repeat performance of that traumatizing evening. The question is whether that's my "hero complex", as Snape would put it, coming out, or whether that's something…more.

"Nargles got you?" Ginny pipes up. Apparently I've spent so much time in my own little thought bubble that I've missed a question, and now everyone's staring at me. I blush and shrug; I'm still not comfortable with everyone staring at me like this.

"Nah, Gin, he's just transfixed by my dashing good looks. You might want to watch out, or I might accidentally steal him away," George jokes. I stiffen up, and Ginny makes an odd face at him. "Actually, about that…Harry and I aren't together anymore," she mumbles into her plate. If I were anywhere else, I'd get up and leave as quickly as possible, but here I know that Molly would hunt me down until she had her answers.

"What? I can't have heard that right. Speak up, will you? You know I've only got the one ear these days," George says, sounding more than a bit confused.

"You heard me right, George. We've decided that honestly, we're better off as friends. It just wasn't going to work out, the way things were," Ginny states, much louder this time. Loud enough that it's not quite shouting, but still everyone at the table hears and focuses their attention on our conversation.

"Oh, dear." And cue the inquisition. "But dears, surely if you'd just given it a bit more time it would have sorted itself out. I mean, everything hasn't always been perfect with us, has is Arthur?" Molly questions. "Why don't you two try to talk things out? You're perfect for each other," she continues.

"Mum. Stop. We know what we're doing. We _did_ talk it out. That's why we're still on speaking terms, instead of being at each other's throat all the time like we would have been otherwise. We still care for each other, obviously, but it's not romantic like it was. Besides, I really don't want to make a big deal out of it. It's done, and I think this conversation needs to be as well," Ginny replies, her tone walking that fine line between firm and sassing her mother. All I can think is that I need some fresh air, because now all the Weasleys are looking at me with looks full of pity or confusion still and I can't take this anymore. Murmuring something about needing some air, I push back from the table and nearly bolt outside.

I stop walking once I get to the little pond on the edge of the property, taking a deep breath and sitting down in the sandy grass in front of the water. I saw this coming, but I didn't think it would be quite as uncomfortable as it is. I don't want their pity just because Ginny and I broke it off, or at all really. I just want to go on about my life like normal, which is something I think I've always wanted but never really had. Ever since I got to be away from the Dursleys and their abusive ways it's always been "The Boy Who Lived" this and "Chosen One" that. Let someone else have the attention for a while, please.

"Hey. Sorry about that," George says as he pops up seemingly out of nowhere to sit next to me on the ground. "I would have never even mentioned it if I'd known it was going to open up such a can of worms like it did."

"S'not your fault, George. One way or another, it was going to come out. This way just happened to be sooner as opposed to later," I say as I shred the blades of grass under my fingers.

"You don't seem too upset about it though. The thing with Ginny, I mean. Were things really all that bad?"

I shift a bit before answering. "I mean, no, not really. We weren't having all-out screaming matches or anything. We'd been arguing a bit more than we used to, spent less time doing romantic stuff. I didn't think it was anything so bad. Maybe that's the problem though, I wasn't as attracted as I used to be, and she could tell. I don't honestly know what changed, or when. And it's bloody confusing! I thought this was what I'd always wanted, to find a girl I cared about, settle down, get married, have kids. Live near my best mates, so our kids could grow up and be best friends too. Now I'm not so sure."

George leaned back a bit so he could look at me straight-on. "I think I know what you're talking about. It was sort of like once I started being able to live again after Fred…well, you know. I had to try to figure out what the hell I was going to do. I knew it would be hard to go on with the shop without him, but I also knew it would be even harder to just give up on something that was a major part of both our live like that. Besides, what else would I do with this set of highly specific skills that I have. Become a cubicle worker? An auror? Not bloody likely.

"No, I had to figure out how to go back. Fred was generally our idea man, you know. It was more my job to make our jokes come to life, safely. So one day I just sat myself down and thought. I thought about things I'd seen that were funny, things that Fred would have thought of. It took me about five days of that before I had anything that was worth doing, but I did get there. And just taking time to think helped. Plus, when I needed a break, I went to talk to Ron, who has some surprisingly good ideas for someone so thick. I guess what I'm saying is, I think you need to take some time away from it all, go to the beach or something, and think about what it is that you want. And if you need someone to talk to about stuff, I'll be here," he says, putting his arm about my shoulders.

"Thanks. I…I just might do that. It'll depend on when I can get a day off from auror training, of course. This close to being done, I don't want to do anything to muck it up," I admit. I like the way his arm feels on my shoulders, the weight and warmth of it bringing a sort of comfort that I didn't know I needed until there it was. I knew I needed space to think, and maybe going away was the best way to go about it. I doubted I'd be talking to him about it all much, though. Considering he's part of the reason I'm so confused. But it's a good idea.

"All right. You think you've steeled yourself to go back into the lions' den?" he questions, getting up and offering me a hand.

I take it, nodding. "Yeah. It's not like I haven't faced worse. I think walking to face my death at Voldemort's hand may have prepared me for this day." We both crack up a bit and head inside, where the others have obviously been having a conference of sorts and are now trying painfully hard to make it seem like they have neither just been talking about me nor are they staring at me from the corners of their eyes. The rest of the evening is a bit awkward, so I leave a little earlier than usual, heading back to my flat to try to get a good night's rest. With only two more weeks of training, I need to be ready for anything.

The next few weeks do that weird thing where it seems like time is simultaneously flying by and moving at a flobberworm's pace, so that when I've passed my training examination and had my first week at work as an auror I'm thoroughly knackered. I've not even had time to properly celebrate what I've accomplished, which is why tonight, tired as I am, I've got to go out with some of my closest friends and have a celebratory pint or two. If I had things my way this could wait a few more days, but Ron is positively insistent that it be tonight and threatened to mention to Percy that I wanted to have a nice, long chat with him about international wizarding relations or something. Blackmail, I tell you! I have a sinking feeling that part of the reason he's insisting we go out is to "help" me get over Ginny. Ginny, I might add, has already moved on happily with someone else, but isn't exactly telling any of us who. All I know is that whenever I see her she's glowing with happiness like I hadn't seen her do in a long while, so I'm happy for her.

Ron arrives about seven minutes after six to collect me himself, in part to make sure I come along and in part because I don't know exactly where we're going. It's some bar on the other end of London from where I live, and as such I've never been. Dean and Seamus seem to know all about it though, and managed to convince Ron that this was what we needed to do.

"Are you sure this can't wait until I've had a chance to catch up on sleep?" I groan as he pulls me towards the fireplace.

"Not a chance, mate. You've been such a hermit the past three weeks that I've almost forgotten what you look like! You need to get out more, have some drinks, let loose! And hey, since you're single now and all, you can have a good look at all the other singles out there. Have a fling, even, if that's what you're in the mood for. But stop moping. It's dead depressing," he advises as we step into the now-green flames after having shouted something unintelligible which I assume was the name of the place.

We topple out of the fireplace into one of the loudest, darkest, most unusual places I can honestly say I've ever been. It also seems as though we're out of dress code, as most of the people here are either dressed in their finest suits or in some sort of wild party gear, neon trousers, mesh shirts and the like. Somehow I don't think this is what Ron expected, either, as his ears are rapidly turning a deep shade of red as he looks around in confusion. I'm about to say something to that effect when Dean, Seamus, and the others spot us and come over to collect us.

"Glad you found the place all right. Good to see you, mates," Dean says, drawing me in for a handshake.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy left nut is this place?" Ron waffles with all his usual eloquence and nearly flapping his arms.

"Well…it serves multiple functions, really. I mean, there's the one section that is really just a bar. There's private rooms for business meetings, other rooms for "business meetings", and then there're the two strip clubs. One with blokes, and the other with birds," Dean rattles off.

"Dean and I like to come, have a few drinks, and then go watch a show or two. Their dancers and strippers really are quite skilled, you know. It's a good way to let off some steam after a rough week," Seamus says, semi-defensively.

"Well, I say we enjoy it to the fullest then. I'm sure Harry here must be in need of some relaxing fun, after all he's been doing," comes a voice from behind me. I turn around to find George, decked out in what I think is the most expensive-looking suit (that also doesn't blind, like those awful robes he and Fred got when they opened WWW) I've ever seen on his person. I feel my mouth go dry as I take in his appearance, only able to think about two things: damn, he is fit, and how underdressed for the occasion I feel.

Ron shakes my shoulder, waking me from yet another of my increasingly frequent reveries. I realize that everyone has started moving towards the bar to order drinks except for me, Ron, and George, who is grinning at me like he's up to no good, which gives me spine shivers of both attraction and fear, wondering exactly what he's about to pull. Hopefully he's not noticed that I was staring at him the way Ron always used to look at the feast on our first night back at Hogwarts each year: starving, and mildly desperate. Somehow I think that's a bit too much to hope for, given that I'm gambling with a Weasley twin. There comes a point in life, I think, where all you can do is hope that whatever happens isn't too unbearably awful, because you know it's going to be bad.

Nothing happens for the first three rounds or so of drinks, just general catching-up and conversation about what everyone is doing with their lives. Dean and Seamus have got jobs in the Ministry as well, Dean doing something with muggle relations, and Seamus helping with international quidditch stuff. Neville is of course almost done with his apprenticing under Professor Sprout at Hogwarts in preparation for her retirement and his eventual assumption of her position teaching Herbology. Most everyone else either has a job at the Ministry or, in some cases, working in the wonderful shops of Diagon Alley in the wake of its renaissance following the war. Nearly everyone offers their congratulations to George on how well his shop is doing, and of course he accepts with a sort of shrug that if anyone else did it would seem arrogant and conceited, but on him just seems good-natured and a little abashed, as if he doesn't want to take all the credit.

We're all a little buzzed, having imbibed three or in some cases four drinks, ranging in strength from butterbeer to Ogden's finest, when Ron, apparently feeling like living dangerously, decides that it would be brilliant to go "take in a show", as Seamus put it earlier. So, getting up from the booth, he starts dragging me and George along with him towards the door to the room with the half-naked women, me protesting the whole way that I don't want to see this, what if we see someone we know, etc. Ron cheerfully ignores me and plops us down front and center at a table near one of what is possibly the skinniest girls I have ever seen, excluding Holocaust victims. That just can't be healthy, and I'm honestly not sure where the appeal is supposed to be here. I mean, yes, she has rhythm, and she's very, er, sparkly, but it seems like all the girls here look mostly the same. Same straight hair, same sort of absent looks on their faces, like they don't especially want to be here. Can't say that I blame them, really. I think if I had to dance about in my underwear all day for people that can't see beyond how I look on the surface I would be trying to go someplace else mentally, too.

Aside from that little inner monologue, I try for about twenty minutes to find something interesting to look at so that Ron won't realize how bored I really am and try to buy me a lap dance or something equally horrifying and in poor taste. Eventually though I realize that he's more interested in ogling the lovely girls here to than in whether or not I'm getting up to get another drink, so I mumble something to that effect and make my escape. Ron just nods without taking his eyes away from the girl now attempting to give Neville a lap dance, much to his embarrassment. As I leave, I realize that a few members of the party have disappeared into thin air, including Dean, Seamus, and George. Wondering where they've gone, I decide to poke my head into the other door at this end of the hallway.

On the other side of that rather unassuming door I find what I can only call a very bright mass of people, similarly unclothed as were the people in the other room. The main difference that I can see is that these half-naked people are blokes, and they seem to be having a good time. Also, the "audience" here seems to be split half and half with regards to gender, while it was nearly all blokes over there, we have a healthy mix of both girls and guys here, with the guys being those people I saw outside earlier in the fancy suits and oddly colored clothing.

There are more surprises behind this door than I would have ever expected, including that I find on one of the nearest lounges, tangled together. Funny, I never had the slightest inclination that Dean and Seamus were so, er, close. Yeah, let's just leave it at that. Close. No, the bigger surprise comes from one of the little stages further back in the room. Aside from seeing one of my superiors drunkenly tucking some muggle money into a very oiled-up male stripper's man thong, much to the dancer's mild confusion, I see in one of the chairs facing the stage none other than George Weasley. He's sitting back in his seat with his standard confidence, and definitely enjoying the spectacle playing out in front of him. I legitimately had no idea that he was even interested in _looking _at the same sex, let alone…enjoying it so much. He's got this half-smirk on his face, lips tilting up in a crooked grin that practically ignites a fire in my belly, and a spark in his eye the likes of which I've not seen since, well, before he lost Fred.

Before I realize exactly what I'm doing, my feet have carried me across the room and I'm standing next to George, my hand on the back of his chair. He looks up at me with a look of mild interest, and gestures for me to sit in the chair to his right. Only when I have taken a seat does he speak.

"Miss me?" he says, quirking his lips up just a little higher. I can't help but blush, much as I resist and tell myself that this is just my best friend's brother. He sees, and chuckles a bit deep in his throat, which is a surprisingly seductive sort of sound. "Ron hasn't even noticed I've gone, has he?"

"No. I don't think he even really noticed when I got up and left, just sort of nodded with that sort of slack-jawed look he gets on his face when he's a bit too busy ogling a girl's, well, you know…"

"Tits?" he proposes, and I nod. "Yeah, that sounds like him. Speaking of which, why aren't you still in there with him?"

I swallow hard, stalling a bit. "Well…I'm…er…that is, I'm not really sure. It's kind of difficult to say."

George turns a bit in his chair, probing "Would you like to try to explain? It sounds like you're a bit lost here, mate."

Taking a deep breath, I respond with "Yeah. All right. I'll try, anyways. No guarantees it won't come out as plain gibberish." We both laugh a bit, but sober up quickly.

"Lately, I haven't been looking at girls so much as I suppose I ought to. I mean, before, while I was at Hogwarts, I had a thing for Cho Chang, and Ginny, obviously, but beyond that I didn't really have much interest in anyone. Having a power-mad dark wizard hell-bent on my destruction probably explains that, I mean, it's a bit hard to focus too much on girls when your life is on the line. And then after the war I was looking for stability, definitely, something dependable and right, and Ginny definitely provided that. She was always there when I needed her, when I'd wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because I thought the war was all just a dream and that I was still living in a tent in the forest with Hermione and Ron. We got on well, even if sometimes it did feel more like living with a best mate or roommate than a girlfriend. When we broke up, I wasn't upset. Confused, yes, but not upset. And then at Ron and Hermione's wedding I was looking around, because that's supposed to be one of the privileges of being single, being able to look at other people without getting smacked upside the head by a jealous girlfriend.

"But instead of looking at all the girls there, and there were quite a few doing their best to show me how eligible they were, I found myself drawn to a different sort of person. I found myself bored, and started looking at the various suits and dress robes being worn by other members of the wedding party, which devolved into looking at the faces of the blokes in said suits and other assorted finery, which devolved into judging how fit they were. When I realized exactly what I'd been up to, I was to say the least confused. I'd never been interested in other blokes before, but all of a sudden that was all I wanted to think about. And one bloke in particular, which really scared me. Having all these strange feelings for the same sex all of a sudden, then someone in particular that I know and know I can't have. I didn't know what to do. I still don't know what to do. But basically, I got bored in the other room, looking at half-naked girls that apparently don't do much for me. That's why I started roaming around and that's how I ended up here," I conclude, looking at my hands in my lap nervously.

"I think that's the most words I've ever heard you say in one sitting, mate," George says, before getting serious again. "You had seemed like you were a bit in a fog for a while there, even before we knew you and Ginny had broken things off. I guess now I know why." He thinks for a bit, looking up towards the ceiling before continuing. "I suppose I never had to deal with suddenly being interested in blokes, I've always had a roughly equal interest in both girls and guys. I just haven't made it very public, in part because it's honestly no one's business but mine and my partner's, whoever that may be, and in part because I don't like to cause that particular kind of controversy. U-NO-POO, sure, but bringing my entire family into a big thing over the fact that I enjoy sleeping with men as well as women just isn't my style. I mean, they know, well, except for Ron, but I think that's more willful ignorance on his part than anything else."

"How did I never know?" I ask wonderingly, considering how I'm basically an honorary Weasley.

"I mean, it's not like I made any big announcement about it or anything. It's more just that I brought someone home that I was seeing, and from there I think Mum told the others. You probably had other things on your mind," he says airily. Suddenly his gaze sharpens on me. "Wait a second. You said you were focused in on a particular bloke. Who?"

Dammit. I didn't mean to say that. I guess that's what alcohol will do for your honesty level. "Yeah. Can you please forget I ever said that? I don't really want to talk about it."

Laughing, he shakes his head and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Absolutely not. You can't mention something that juicy and then expect that I'll be able to just forget about it. Fine, if you don't want to talk about it outright, at least give me a hint. Test my cleverness."

I think about his proposition a moment before agreeing. I mean, what harm could it do? At worst he'll think it's one of his brothers, at best some random Weasley cousin.

"Well…he's got red hair." George snorts. "He's also got a very nice arse, if I'm honest," I state, perhaps being a tad too candid.

"Hmm. So definitely not Percy, then. Or Ron, either. No musculature whatsoever, they spend more time either in their office chairs or stuffing their faces, respectively, to go out and build any up." I look at him blankly, and he defends himself with "What? It's true! It's not my fault it's so obvious that they've really started letting themselves go since they got married…"

"Erm. Well then…let's see. What else is there to say without it becoming a dead giveaway…he's older than me, but not awkwardly so. Like, it wouldn't be creepy if we were to actually be together," I say, trying not to think about my best friend's arse. That's just plain creepy, and weird. Like thinking about my brother, if I had one.

"Got a taste for older men, have you? Hmm…I feel like you're making this difficult on purpose. Tell me this: is it one of my brothers?" he asks.

"Decidedly not." Well, he didn't ask if it was one of his parents' kids, just if it was one of his brothers. Technically, I'm telling the truth here.

"Did you know him before the wedding? Or is it someone you just met for the first time that day?" I think about that one a minute, to throw him off. Keep him guessing a little, I guess. "Yes. We'd met quite a bit before that day," I say, trying to still be vague. I watch, and feel my mouth go dry as George leans back in his chair, watching his neck stretch and his adam's apple bob as he swallows a sip of a drink I didn't realize he had.

"So it's someone with red hair, a nice arse, not my brothers, older than you, who you've known for a while. As best I can remember, there weren't all that many kids running around with red hair at Hogwarts, aside from us Weasleys, so I don't suppose this will be too hard to narrow down," he murmurs after a few moments of thought. I personally have my doubts about how easy this will be, considering most everyone he could guess will be wrong.

We continue to sit there as he mumbles to himself, occasionally shaking his head as he eliminates yet another candidate from his mental list, a task only made more difficult by the alcohol imbibed throughout the evening. After several minutes of this, he throws his head back in frustration and nearly howls "Okay, I have legitimately no idea who on Earth it could possibly be. There's not enough people that satisfy even three of those characteristics! Either you've lied to me or I'm losing my touch."

On the one hand, I'm pleased that I've outsmarted George Weasley, but on the other, I'm somewhat disappointed that he didn't guess that it's him I've been talking about this whole time. It would certainly force some action here, as opposed to the stagnant waiting and watching I've had to settle for. "Nope. I've not lied to you, George. You just aren't looking in the right places." Did I literally just say that? Oh, great, now he might actually figure it out. I'm still a bit nervous about what all that might entail, but I suppose if I really didn't want him to know I would do a better job of keeping my mouth shut.

Just when I think he's given up for a second time and possibly for good, this look comes over him that I've only ever seen when he's just had an idea for a major prank. It starts with the eyebrows, which inch up just so slightly in a look of surprise, then one quirks a bit. From there the eyes shine just a bit brighter, pupils growing just the tiniest bit larger. The most obvious sign, however, is the way his mouth curls up into an almost devilish smirk, one that says quite clearly "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"Harry…dear friend of mine," he starts in an almost lascivious tone, as he leans in closer to me. "I think I just might know who it is that you speak of. Allow me to run this by your checklist just to make sure." I swallow hoarsely, and nod slowly. "Let's see…he's older than you, but you've known him for quite some time." I nod again. "He's got red hair, a nice arse, and yet is not one of my brothers." More nodding. "Now, that would stump most people, but then again, I'm not most people, am I Harry?" I shake my head, trying to control my breathing so he won't sense my mild panic. "I do believe I know who it is. Might this highly attractive specimen of man that you speak of be…me?" I close my eyes tightly, and nod a final time.

I feel him pull back, away from me, and the only thing that I can really feel is the way my heart sinks further into my stomach than if I'd just fallen off a broom, broken my arm, and could hear that idiot Lockhart saying he knew just the thing to fix it. That would be because I've completely blown it, by telling him, he's going to laugh, and laugh, and laugh at me and my silly attraction. I mean, who wouldn't? I couldn't even come straight out and say anything, I let him figure it out for himself through a cryptic guessing game like some dim-witted teenage girl. Just as I can feel my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in, I feel a hand on my forearm.

"Well, if you would have just said something, we could have been doing this earlier," comes George's voice in a whisper near my ear, right before I feel his lips on mine. It's rather a lot like flying on a broom, the feeling in my chest, but it's also like feeling more grounded than I have in a long time, like this is something stable and real that's been put here for me to cling to in the midst of a monsoon. All too soon it stops, though it felt like it went on for hours and years and only seconds at the same time. Finally I have the courage to open my eyes, to see him looking at me with a similar electrified-but-confused expression to the one I'm sure I'm wearing.

"Bloody hell," he says, shaking his head and looking a little like a dog flicking water off its ears. "I mean, I knew it would be good, kissing you, but I had no idea it'd be like _that._" He runs a hand through his tousled hair, chuckling.

"You mean you've thought about that before?" I question, trying not to sound too hopeful. If he's thought about this anywhere near as much as I have…

"Of course. I mean, you're fit, and we've always gotten on well. It would be a bit weird if I hadn't thought about it, even once. I mean, since you and Ginny called it quits I've been thinking about it more, since it's seemed like it was more in the realm of possibility than it had ever been before. But honestly, I didn't want to say anything and make things weird, you know? I know that sounds girly, but what can I say? Us Weasleys have always prided ourselves on our honesty, unless pranks are involved," he responds, cheerful as ever.

We sit quietly for a few seconds, processing what's just happened, before I let my curiosity get the better of me. "So…what now?" George looks at me, quirking an eyebrow. "I mean, where do we go from here? I hope you aren't just wanting to tease me, with all the kissing and confessing and all. That's just rude." He laughs, and takes my hand in his. "No, Harry. Not teasing. Maybe later, when we're considerably less clothed and decidedly not in a strip club. I mean, I think I've made it quite plain that I'm interested in you in the same way you're interested in me. And that definitely doesn't include a short fling, I'm genuinely interested in seeing where we can take this," he says, looking me in the eye towards the end.

"So…dinner sometime?" I ask hopefully, earning me more chuckles. "Of course. And much more than that, I hope," he replies with a wink that just about makes me hot all over. Naturally, George notices my sudden change in demeanor and a similar light takes over his features. He leans in to kiss me again, and while I feel the same sensations as I did from the first kiss, there's a deeper fire there this time, one that leaves me feeling hot and wanting nothing more than to drag George out of here and to my place, where we'll do…well, I'm not really sure, but I'm sure he's got some good ideas.

"That sounds brilliant," he murmurs against my lips, which leads me to realize I must have said that last bit out loud instead of just in my head like I'd intended. One of his hands is knotted up in my ever-unruly hair, and another has wrapped itself around my neck to bring me in closer. Somehow or another we manage to rise from our seats, all without detaching from one another's lips for more than a second at most. We make our way towards the exit, ignoring the various whistles and catcalls we get as we continue to kiss and grope one another, paying no mind to Dean and Seamus' loud exclamations of shock as we pass them on our way out. Eventually we do have to let go, but only for as long as it takes to get to my abode without splinching ourselves.

Nearly as soon as we've touched down in my sitting room, I'm tugging at the hem of his shirt before remembering that it has buttons, and it might be wise to try undoing those first. By the time I've succeeded in unbuttoning all those little buttons on his dress shirt, he's already managed to get me out of my jumper that I'd started my evening in for comfort's sake. For several minutes, we're content with having just that skin revealed for the touching, for the near-consumption by the other's hands. I jump a bit at his first touches to my nipples, then relax into his touch with a low moan as he rubs and pinches them into almost painful points, wanting more sensation but at the same time not really able to imagine what that "more" could possibly be.

Basically, since I've not exactly had experience with touching another bloke, I'm just scrambling to copy what he's doing to me when I touch him, scrambling because it's so hard to pay attention and copy when I can feel myself getting positively lost in the sensations. It's not necessarily that touching a guy is extremely different from touching a girl, at least at this level, but it's just making slight adjustments that I'm not used to yet. Going below the belt, however, is a different story altogether.

The pair of us are so hopelessly, uselessly aroused that it takes several moments to figure out how belts work again, how to unbutton a button, which direction to pull a zipper in to get out of our clothes. Once we get the mechanics of undressing together though it's only a second or two before there isn't a soul in this house wearing clothes, not even socks. I take a minute to just admire George in all his naked glory, from his flushed chest to his very erect member, even down to his pale toes digging into my carpet.

"I think…perhaps for a first time we should maybe not go all the way?" he half states, half asks. At this point, I'm surprised he can even form a coherent sentence. Merlin knows I can't, so it takes a bit for me to respond. "What are you thinking then? Don't you even think about leaving me hanging here," I warn, crossing my arms.

"No, never. Not after how great this evening has gone so far. I'm thinking I need to teach you a basic lesson that I'm sure will come in useful in the future. Just pay attention, I'll answer any questions you may have at the end of this," he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Now, I suggest you sit down. Can't have you falling over and cracking your skull open now." I move over to the couch, settling myself down on the middle cushion.

"Now, I'm sure you've had a blow job at some point in your life. Possibly even given by my sister, though to be completely honest I don't want to think about that ever." He shuddered a bit before continuing. "I can practically guarantee you though that you were not taking particularly good notes on how to give one to someone else, because up until recently you thought you were straighter than McGonagall's spine. This time, I want you to focus on how you'd return the favor, because eventually I think you will. Maybe not tonight, but for my sake, hopefully soon."

For all that he claimed to want me to focus, he barely gave me time to get into that sort of mindset before his tongue was gently lapping at the base of my erection, making me shiver. From there, focus only became harder to come by, as he slowly but surely made his way up from the base to the tip, taking time to lick his way up a vein on the underside, and repeating the action several times. When, a few seconds later, he took the whole tip into his mouth to suck lightly, he had to use one hand to hold my hips down to control my uncontrolled motions, undoubtedly leaving bruises as a souvenir. His sucking became stronger as he slowly took me in deeper, taking nearly all of my length before stopping. Around the second time he did this, I became aware of a moaning noise that I almost didn't recognize as my own moans of pleasure, it sounded so foreign and much less restrained than I was accustomed to hearing from myself.

All in all, it didn't last very long, because though I'm not an inexperienced teenager, that was one of the most arousing things I've ever experienced. To my surprise, George had released my hips and practically allowed me to fuck his mouth until I came, and he swallowed. I could only lay there for several minutes, trying to recover from one of the strongest orgasms of my entire life, while he began slowly squeezing his hand up and down his own erection. When I finally feel up to moving, I sit up a bit and look at him somewhat nervously and somewhat excitedly. He pulls himself up onto the couch alongside me, and reaches out for one of my hands, wrapping it around his cock. I take the hint and copy the motions he had been making himself just moments before, savoring the odd yet wonderful feeling of having someone else's penis in my hand. His is just slightly bigger than mine, both long and around. Not that I'm upset, not at all. He's already leaking significant amounts of precum, and it doesn't take very long to bring him to a howling orgasm.

It doesn't take him as long to recover as it did me, and he leans over to kiss me once more, this time a mix of languid contentment and passion. I pull away to grab my wand to clean the two of us up, and George makes a hum of gratitude before leaning his head on my shoulder. Even though I know he came, I still have just a bit of niggling doubt in the back of my mind as to whether or not he enjoyed himself enough.

"I can hear you thinking, you know. You should stop. Thinking's bad for a person, especially in large doses. I recommend you say whatever it is that's on your mind and then let's go to bed, this couch is going to give me a crick in my neck if this is where we spend the night," he murmurs against my neck.

"Fine. Well…was I any good?" I ask after a moment, immediately embarrassed as soon as I've finished asking. He raises up from my shoulder, giving me an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me? Considering you've not been with a bloke before, in any way, that was bloody fantastic! I mean, yes, you have more to learn, but I think we all do, honestly. That was honestly the most turned on I've felt lately, and we didn't even go _close_ to going all the way. Does that answer your question?" he responds. I nod, red as Ron when he's embarrassed. "Good. Now, about that bed…" he trails off, getting up from the couch and pulling me along with him. He grabs our clothes before dragging me off down the hall to my bedroom, finding places to hang them so as to prevent wrinkles and basically tossing himself onto my bed. I crawl in after him, and he wraps his arm around me. George is warm next to me, and between that and the softness of the bed and the alcohol/orgasm/long week sleepy that I am, I'm out like a light before I realize it. All I can say is that maybe Voldemort was right: I am very, very lucky.


End file.
